


Intolerable

by komodokasm



Category: Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Cloud wants to be good, Depression, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Sephiroth is just Like That, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29976318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/komodokasm/pseuds/komodokasm
Summary: “You will not die.” His words are stern, and Cloud feels sick at how Sephiroth’s disappointment makes him want to assure him that he won’t do it again. “I forbid it.”
Relationships: Sephiroth & Cloud Strife, Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	Intolerable

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning:
> 
> Cloud is experiencing some major depression in here. Please, if you are not in a great mental state right now, do not read. I have personally made the mistake of reading stuff like this when I shouldn't have, but it is so easily avoidable. Put down your phone, shut down your computer, whatever you need to do and go sit under a tree for a bit. It'll be okay (:
> 
> Basically, what if Cloud understood what Sephiroth meant when he said, "Lend me your power."
> 
> Not at all canon-compliant. Some things are out of order, and by the time Cloud meets Aerith and is almost back in Sector 7, they have to go to Wall Market to save Tifa. And then after Wall Market, the plate drops, so this is just ignoring all of that. Sector 7 slums are okay! Wall Market didn't happen? idk! Also, some of the thoughts Cloud has here are kind of too soon for where he would be at in this moment in time, but it is what it is.
> 
> Partly inspired by the song "Without You" by Ursine Vulpine and Annaca.

The dagger looks out of place sitting among his mighty blades. The Buster Sword, the Iron Blade… hell, even the Nail Bat. Like it belongs somewhere else, not on the little wobbly nightstand Tifa brought in one day. “To have somewhere to put your stuff, so you don’t lose anything,” she had said. Right. Like he had anything to lose.

It’s probably past midnight. All he can hear outside his door is the wind whistling through the tight corridors of the slums. His eyes keep lingering on that small blade, polished to perfection. It’s a waste, he thinks. Only gonna be used once, and not even for anything… He shakes his head. Nothing worth remembering.

He stares at his hands, gently clasped together in front of him, the cheap mattress below him squeaking when he slumps over. His mind is strangely empty, like he just hit a dead end. There’s nothing beyond this point.

A sharp throb pierces through his mind, and he grips at his head with a pained groan. An image of expansive darkness, broken up by strange colors… bits of rock beneath his feet, a man shrouded in black and silver…

“The cusp of the Universe…”

He breaks away from the vision with a gasp, eyes staring ahead and heart pounding unsteadily against his chest. His hand is shaking.

“Lend me your power… Run away… Live…”

His eyes trail back to the ornamental weapon that doesn’t belong in his apartment. With mako running through his body, he should have never again felt so heavy, but… His entire body sags with an unseen weight.

Never looking away from the blade, he lifts up onto his feet and drags himself the short distance to the nightstand. He probably could have just reached his arm out from where he had sat to grab the dagger, but that felt… It was like part of a sacred ritual. Silly as it sounds. Like it wouldn’t count if he half-assed it.

His hands trace over the hilt’s intricate design. He doesn’t think he’s ever touched something so beautiful, but long black hair, porcelain skin, and kind… kind eyes flash through his mind. His brows pinch together and he can feel his eyes start to burn. Perhaps in anger at himself, he grips the blade’s hilt and holds it up, scrutinizing the reflection glaring wearily back at him.

Even after it all… after he thought there was no more feeling in his limbs, his mind… his heart still pounds away in his chest, as if it knows what’s happening. As if it can convince its host to stop—as if it isn’t the other way around. He doesn’t even know if he’s in the same situation. It’s like someone else is controlling his body. But, no. He knows what that feels like.

This isn’t it.

He feels like there’s one more step in between, but there isn’t. All that’s left is to plunge that too-beautiful blade into the heart that has no choice but to accept its fate.

So be it.

If it meant… Tifa… Aerith… Barret… Marlene…

If it meant they…

He turns the dagger over in his hands and brings it up to point at the center of his chest. A sob tears through his throat, and he clenches his eyes shut, jerking his head away from his inevitable doom. His arms are shaking, but his grip is firm. He can’t… he has to… 

His breaths are coming in quick, fearful gulps. With a cry not unlike one uses in battle, he brings his arms down, unthinking, unfeeling. He unconsciously braces for the metal to pierce his skin when he suddenly remembers he already bears a scar there.

“Oh, Cloud…”

His eyes shoot open with a painfully sharp intake of air. What meets his gaze is a strong grip surrounded by dark leather, and he startles backward only to bump into a sturdy mass. He snaps his head up, gaze landing on silver locks before sliding further to meet slitted eyes. His own eyes widen in anxiety, and his feet move before he can think to escape from under that imposing form, but an arm encircles his waist and holds him steady.

He starts to hyperventilate, ragged breaths escaping past his lips along with sounds of distress. He wants to shout, “Let go!”, but he can’t remember how to form the words.

Having long since released his grip on the blade, Sephiroth alone holds it in his hand. He lowers it until it’s at eye level with Cloud before saying gently, “Perhaps I should have made myself more clear,” he drops the blade, and the twang of metal rings painfully through Cloud’s ears. His now empty hand descends upon him, and he flinches away, but that leather-bound hand just covers his eyes, barely more than a whisper of contact. “You will not die.” His words are stern, and Cloud feels sick at how Sephiroth’s disappointment makes him want to assure him that he won’t do it again. Lips brush against his ear, and the hand resting against his abdomen slides up to trace the scar directly over his heart, the sensation heightened with his sight removed, “ _I forbid it_.”

As quickly as he came, he was gone. Suddenly without the other’s support, Cloud falls to his knees, his entire body shaking violently. His stomach lurches, and he topples over, retching on nothing and unable to breathe between that and the heavy sobs wracking his body. Somewhere in his misery, he notices that the dagger is nowhere to be found.

The relief he refuses to acknowledge sends another wave of nausea through him.

Exhausted, he just let’s his body slump to the floor, the rough wood flooring pressing into his skin. He drifts off to unconsciousness, too heavy and dark to be called sleep… and hopes that was just his last nightmare of the man in the black cape.

But the loud, rhythmic beating of a heart in his ears tells him he failed.

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about how Sephiroth said at the end of the Remake, "Nor will I have you end," and I was wondering how he meant that??? If Cloud was at Death's doorstep, would he step in and save him? And then there's also the thing about Cloud being the one who brings Sephiroth back from the Lifestream. If Cloud just... ended his life, would that, too, put an end to Sephiroth's resurrections?
> 
> Planning on adding at least a couple chapters, all pretty short. Won't go on too long, probably.
> 
> Rating might change, and I might change it from Gen to M/M.


End file.
